


Heart and Home

by unbelievable2



Category: The Sentinel (TV)
Genre: M/M, The Sentinel Secret Santa 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:14:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28193778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unbelievable2/pseuds/unbelievable2
Summary: After tragedy strikes Blair’s flannel collection, Jim is forced to re-evaluate what he’s been looking at all along.
Relationships: Jim Ellison/Blair Sandburg
Comments: 17
Kudos: 39
Collections: 2020 'The Sentinel Secret Santa' - Gift Exchange





	Heart and Home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [snycock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/snycock/gifts).



> Note: a late-season story where the upsets of Alex and TSbyBS didn’t happen.  
> No, I know nothing about American insurance arrangements. This is Christmas. Give me a break.

_“You can have anything you want in life if you dress for it.” – Edith Head_

It was a tie as to which wakened Jim Ellison first. The temperature in the Loft had risen minutely, despite the distance away from the seat of the fire. There were also the molecules of smoke that the heated air was pushing down the corridors and through the air-vents. He woke with a start, all nerve endings jangling, and although he reached automatically for his gun, he knew instinctively the threat was something far more primitive. He grabbed the pair of sweatpants that hung over the end of the bed and vaulted down the stairs, shouting as he landed on the wooden floor.

"Chief! Chief! Wake up! Wake up, there's a fire! There’s a fire in the building!"

In the box-room, he grabbed the still-sleeping Blair's arm and shook it roughly, half-pulling his friend out of bed. Blair's eyes snapped open.

"Fire? Where? Where? I can’t see anything!"

"Not this floor," shouted Jim, already heading for the front door. "I think it’s downstairs. I’ll check down there. You ring the Fire Department and then get the rest of this floor out."  
Blair was still a little dazed.

"Fire alarms? The alarms – have they have gone off… ?" Jim didn’t even look back.

"It’s only just started." 

He ran out into the corridor, aware that Blair had already grabbed the phone was dialling. He made first for one of the red panels in the wall, smashing the glass with his fist so that the alarm system sounded. There was no obvious sign of smoke or flames along the top corridor but as he made for the stairs and the second floor, that merest trace of heat and smoke that he had first detected was growing all the while.

The alarm bells were bringing people out from their apartments - two elderly ladies with their hair in scarves, an older gentleman in striped pyjamas, the two secretaries in the first apartment by the elevator that Blair called The Susans, even though neither of them was a Susan - and he shooed them towards the stairwell. His mind was focused on the apartment at the far end of the corridor, where he could see the glow in the fanlight above the door, and from where smoke was seeping through the door-frame. Polly Edwards' home – tiny little lady with her black and white cat. He tore off his T-shirt, wrapped it around his face, and made for the door; it was hot to the touch. He took a leap and kicked at the lock, falling back as he did so. He didn't need Sentinel senses to hear the crackle of flames. He rolled sideways and, still at floor level, crawled to the edge of the door and yelled.

"Mrs Edwards! Polly!"

The room was a-dance with flames. Tinsel Christmas tree flaring, a couch alight and smoke pouring out…. Something hit the ground with a thud beside him, and suddenly there was Blair with a scarf around his face.

"They're on their way," he shouted in Jim's ear. Jim nodded.

"I can hear them."

"Can you see Polly? I think everyone else is out of the building." Blair started to edge forward, and pulled the scarf down from his face.

"Polly! Polly! Where are you?"

The flames were licking along the ceiling panels. Jim crawled into the room, keeping low to avoid the worst of the smoke. Then he saw her – a small, crumpled shape between the living area and the bedroom. He grabbed Blair’s arm.

"Look, in there!"

They crawled under the smoke, and hauled her across the floor. Jim was suddenly conscious that underneath the immediate danger of flames and smoke, something else was building in the apartment. 

"Oh, Jesus!" he shouted. "She has a gas cooker! The gas is gonna blow! Blair, move!" But Blair wasn't moving back, he was moving forward.

"Ezra!" yelled Blair. "She was trying to find Ezra!"

Once again, Blair pushed forward under the smoke and Jim could see him reach underneath an ornate dresser which stood by the bedroom door, its pretty glass already shattered. He pulled out a pitiful handful of fur, then wriggled backwards.

"Blair!" shouted Jim. "Blair, now!" He reached out and grabbed Blair’s arm, pulling him over the threshold. No sooner had they got to their feet, the gas in the apartment exploded with a roar. Both Jim and Blair were blown back against the corridor wall, and a sheet of flame leapt out right over their heads, searing their skin. Blair was on his knees, coughing hard beside him, and Jim found it increasingly difficult to draw breath in the roiling smoke in the corridor. But help was at hand – into his vision loomed yellow and black-clad firemen. A big figure bent over Jim and dragged him back along the corridor, one arm across his chest. Someone else had picked up Polly Edwards, and another was carrying Blair.

By the time they had got out into the fresh air, and someone clapped on oxygen mask around his face, he could see that the Fire Department were working hard to control the blaze. The fire had pierced through the top floor and the roof was alight. Jim was trying to gauge the distance that it needed to travel to devastate his own home when a large figure in wet oilskins clumped up to him and squatted down to where he was sitting on the street coping. He realised it was Tom Potter, a fire officer that he knew fairly well from interdepartmental softball matches over the years. Potter clapped him on the shoulder, and removed his own mask for a moment.

"Jim? It is Jim Ellison, right? We think we’ve got it on the run now. That side of the building on those upper floors is going to be pretty badly damaged, though. Which is your apartment?"

Jim pointed weakly, not really trusting his hoarse voice to speak. Potter followed the line of Jim’s arm and nodded. 

"Yeah, don’t worry. We’ll have stopped it before it gets there. But there's going to be an awful lot of water running through. Anyway, the key thing is, you guys got out okay. And I know we've got you to thank for getting that lady out too, before the explosion. Always the hero, eh, Jim?"

He slapped Jim good-naturedly on the back – which made Jim cough even more -  
and clumped away again. Jim looked round to see if the paramedics had finished with Blair and saw him propped up against a fire truck, draped in a Fire Department rescue blanket. The sheet of flame following the gas blast had frizzled one side of his hair and he looked weirdly lop-sided. He saw Jim looking for him and wandered over to share the coping.

"Will it get to the loft?" he asked hoarsely. 

"They don’t think so, Chief, but I guess we just have to wait it out."

And so it was that when Simon Banks' car screeched to a halt alongside the police cordon, and the big man himself strode up, he found his crack team still sitting glumly and shivering on the side of the street, staring at the Niagara of water which was now cascading from the roof and down the walls of 852 Prospect.

~~~

After a troubled few hours' rest at Simon's house, the three men drove back again to the wet remains early the next morning. The fact that they were cops, and that Jim had more than a passing acquaintance with Tom Potter, meant that they were able to negotiate some unofficial access to the Loft. Potter took them upstairs himself, pointing out the extent of the damage as he did so.

"As far as we can see right now, it’s the usual story. Somebody puts too many candles on the mantelpiece, somebody lets a Christmas tree get too close to an open flame, something falls over and hits the gas burner….."

"With Polly," said Blair with a croak, "that could be all three of the above. She's pretty absent-minded, and that cat is a menace."

"Any news of them?" asked Jim.

"I believe both she and the feline are still in their respective intensive care departments being given oxygen," replied Potter, "but they should both be okay. All round, this was one of those fires that takes very quickly and spreads very quickly. The casualty rate could have been much worse had you guys not noticed. So everyone in the building was very lucky, not just Mrs Edwards. I don’t know how you picked it up, though. That old Sixth Sense, Detective Ellison?" He gave them a conspiratorial wink, which clearly indicated that even the Fire Department were party to the rumours about Jim's abilities.

"Insomnia"

"Hey, don’t worry about me. I'm just glad you guys are safe. Though I should rip you new ones for endangering yourselves like that. But I know if you'd waited for us, Mrs Edwards likely wouldn't have survived that explosion, so I'll let it go this time." He grinned at them as they sloshed down the wet corridor towards the door of 307. 

"The problem is," continued Potter, "we just had to use one hell of a lot of water to make sure it didn’t spread any farther. So whilst you’ve lost nothing to the fire itself, I’m afraid that there's a lot of damage from water and smoke."

He walked ahead of them to push the door open.

"Just kind of prepare yourselves."

Inside, the Loft looked like it had been the victim of some kind of strange tsunami, and water was still dripping off the stairs and the shelves. The roof-light had gone, with the bulk of the water presumably entering through there, but whilst Jim’s bedroom had sheltered one end of the Loft, the upper level had clearly deflected a great deal of water into the other, and specifically into Blair’s bedroom. Blair didn’t even hesitate, but rushed into his room and emerged four seconds later with his laptop and his copy of Burton.

"Look, these are okay," he said with a wan grin, and darted back again.

Jim peered into Blair's room. It looked like a swamp, with the futon a shipwrecked vessel in the middle of it. And given that much of Blair’s wardrobe was frequently spread around the room, his clothing look like the drowned inhabitants of a flooded town, heavy and bloated. Thankfully, many of his books and files, like the laptop, had been protected by an overhanging shelf, and Blair was already thrusting more reams of paper into a damp-looking backpack. 

Jim turned around and looked at the rest of his home; blackened kitchen, ruined furniture, splitting flooring. He didn’t have the heart to risk the stairs, to look at what had happened in his bedroom. But once again, some freak of the water's flow had protected random objects, like the Red Heron poster behind the door, and his line of photograph albums, and in fact much of his music collection looked unscathed.

"What happens now?" croaked Jim, copying Blair and grabbing an old shopping bag into which he started piling essentials - the contents of the gun drawer in the kitchen, both their wallets, car keys, and a slightly soggy cardboard concertina file of important paperwork which had been miraculously sheltered, to an extent, by one of the bookcases.

"Well," replied Potter, "now you move out, and your insurers will get structural engineers in, and they’ll take it from there. It’ll take some months to get this right for you."

And it was only then that Jim fully realised that, in the space of one evening, he had been made homeless.

~~~

Simon took one look at their forlorn faces as they emerged into the daylight outside the stricken building, and took them straightaway to a coffee shop at the far end of the block opposite. While he ordered steaming coffees and a large plate of buttermilk doughnuts, Jim divided up the some of the contents of his bag with Blair – namely car keys and wallet. Both men gratefully wrapped their fingers round the warming mugs of coffee, but not even Jim was tempted to dive into the pastries. Simon knew this was bad.

He hadn’t got very far with his attempt at a commiseration speech when a petite middle-aged lady in a powder-blue pantsuit under a heavy waterproof coat, and waterproof boots, walked purposefully up to their table.

"Excuse me, gentlemen, but which of you is Mr James J Ellison?" Jim looked up glumly. 

"That would be me," he said, his hoarse voice flat and unhappy.

"I'm Sharon Price from Allied Mutual, Mr Ellison. I’m the representative from your insurance company and I'll be responsible for looking after you after the events of last night. I wondered if I could join you for a moment and just go through some details, if I’m not interrupting anything?"

All three men shook their heads solemnly and Jim gestured to the empty seat at the booth. Sharon sat down primly, sliding the coat off her shoulders.

"First of all, Mr Ellison, may I say how very sorry I am that you've experienced such a trauma this past night. I’ve been in to see the damage, and what I want to do is to let you know right away how we will ensure you are warm and comfortable and taken care of whilst the building is being reconstructed and the damage is dealt with."

Jim looked at her in a slightly dazed way, but before he could think something polite to say she moved on.

"So I’m assuming that you haven't been able to salvage much of your belongings so far? She looked at them all in an inquisitorial way, and Simon quickly put up both hands. 

"Hey, I’m just a friend. I'm not part of this."

She smiled brightly and turned to Blair and Jim. 

"So, gentlemen," and then she gazed at their clearly borrowed sweats – Blair was wearing Daryl’s and Jim was wearing Simon’s and none of the sizes really matched up - "I can see that you really don’t have much in the way of personal apparel right now. And, I imagine, few of the comforts of life."

"That would be about it," intoned Jim.

Sharon Price pulled a file from her small briefcase. 

"Please don’t worry, Mr Ellison. From what I’ve seen, I am sure your apartment will be capable of being restored to its original state. That’s not going to be a problem. However there is a problem about where you will be staying whilst the reconstruction work is carried on, and also of course you’ve lost your possessions, such as your clothes and other personal items. That’s correct?"

Blair looked down at his coffee.

"Pretty much everything in the world," he said in a low, dismal voice. Sharon shook her head in a deeply sympathetic way.

"I’m so very sorry, Mr…ah… Mr….?"

"Sandburg," said Blair, belatedly putting out a hand and offering a wan smile. "Blair Sandburg, and I….". And then he gave Jim a worried glance. 

"Oh yeah," said Jim, gathering his wits. "Mr Sandburg… ah, Blair… he’s my partner."

"Oh," exclaimed Sharon, white smile breaking out, "that’s so lovely." Then her expression changed. "But, well, the problem is, Mr Ellison, that Mr Sandburg's belongings aren't covered by your insurance policy. But if he is your life partner…"

"Oh, no!" yelped all three men simultaneously, waving their hands in a gesture of denial. Sandra Price looked confused.

"He’s my working partner, at the Police Department," explained Jim with a slightly nervous smile, "but he's also an academic. He works at Rainier University as well and we just happen to be partnered on… ah… technical cases. That kind of thing." He trailed off.

"Oh, I see. So Mr Sandburg doesn’t live in the apartment…"

There was a pregnant pause.

"Ah, well…" said Blair and Jim together, and then Blair carried on, giving Jim a quick glance that said _'I’ve got this one'_. "Yeah, I’ve been rooming with Detective Ellison for a little while now, as I had to move apartments unexpectedly." 

Jim gave Blair a dark look as if to say _'you call that a good explanation?'_.

"So," said Sharon Price slowly, "so you weren’t subletting the apartment?"

"Oh no, that’s not it," replied Jim quickly. "He was just staying as a friend for a little while."

"For how long?” asked Sandra, her bright, intelligent face looking more like a terrier's every moment.

"Oh," mused Jim, staring off into space, "a few months now, Chief, isn't that right?" Blair nodded vigorously and Simon’s face took on a glassy expression as he privately counted back the years.

"Yeah," agreed Blair, jumping in with an attempt at a friendly smile. "Jim was the regular friend in need, you know? He was kind enough to offer me some temporary space when my apartment blew up."

Simon, who had been sipping some of his coffee at that moment, almost snorted the cupful over the entire table, and had to feign a coughing fit to cover up. In the temporary hiatus where napkins were speedily used, Jim took up the explanation.

"What he means is, the rent blew up. Isn't that right, Chief?"

"Yeah!" Blair was nodding vigorously again. "Yeah, the rent just… um… blew sky-high."

"So," continued Sandra, processing all of this, "your belongings won't be covered under Detective Ellison’s policy, but will of course be covered under your own insurance policy. Well, that’s good… " And then she stopped in mid-sentence as she saw the look on Blair's face.

"Who is your insurer, Mr Sandburg?"

Another pregnant pause.

"Insurer?" repeated Blair. "I’m sure I must’ve had insurance once…"

And he suddenly looked straight into Jim’s face, and Jim saw the despair. Blair didn’t possess much; most of it was made up of the books and laptop which miraculously had escaped the worst of the dowsing. But in terms of bodily comforts, Blair had been reduced to the slightly-too-small gym kit, and the slightly-too-large trainers (all of which belonged to Daryl) that he stood up in.

"Well," continued Sandra Price, "I'm afraid my main concern here of course is making sure that Allied Mutual's client, Mr Ellison," - she nodded brightly in Jim’s direction - "is well cared for while the apartment is put back put to rights."

"Ah, just how long do you think this might be?" broke in Simon. Sandra's face took on a professionally sympathetic expression.

"The apartment itself – that’s a matter of drying out and cleaning smoke damage. However clearly there’s been a lot of structural damage to the building in the eastern segment. So it will be months. Many months."

"It’s just…" continued Simon, with a worried look, "It’s just that, well, Blair and Jim, you know you'd be welcome to stay with me, normally, but I’m just about to get the whole house redecorated, and of course Daryl will be coming back for the holidays soon, and…"

Jim interrupted quickly.

"No, that’s fine, Simon. I don’t think we want to be presuming on you or any of our PD friends. I’m sure we can locate some rental somewhere…"

But before he could continue, Sandra Price broke in again.

"Mr Ellison, that’s just not going to be necessary. Your policy covers relocation whilst your property is being repaired. By the end of the day I will have a very nice property for you, which you will be able to move into right away. We’ve always got a number of possibilities on our books." Then she bit her lip. "The problem is of course, the provision for accommodation will only cover the insured. I’m afraid, and it won’t stretch to two bedrooms. And I have to say that we have to be quite strict about how our temporary accommodation is used."

She looked meaningfully at Jim, and then threw Blair another sympathetic look.  
Blair gave a kind of hollow laugh.

"No problem, Sandra. I’m sure I can rustle up a couch somewhere."

There was a long pause, during which all three men looked at the table, and Sandra Price gazed out of the window at the blackened apartment block.

"Mr Sandburg, you said you were employed by Rainier, is that right?" Blair nodded. "Well," continued Sandra, "I don’t deal with that portfolio myself, but I have colleagues who do, and I’m pretty sure they’ve told me that Rainier has a very comprehensive insurance policy for its staff."

"I’m not so much staff as just a grad student," replied Blair.

"But you carry on teaching duties?" Blair nodded. "Oh well, in that case, you’ll be on their books as teaching staff. They have to do that. I’m sure this is a case of automatic cover which will apply to you, so what I would suggest is that you get in touch with them right way. In fact," she continued, putting the paperwork back in her little folder, "I’m driving that way myself. You have your car, right? Why don’t you follow me over there and in the meantime I can call a colleague to meet us there. We can make sure to sort you out. Does that seem like a plan?"

It was a plan. But there was something quite pathetic about how Blair, trailing along in her wake as she left the coffee shop, looked back with a hopeless expression at both Simon and Jim.

~~~

It took Jim much of the rest of the day to get organised, and throughout that period he had no word from Blair. It would have been difficult, quite honestly, for Blair to have got in touch, as Jim had failed to collect his cell phone from the Loft, where it had been lying in a puddle of water. Despite the annoying absence of Sandburg, Jim tried to concentrate on the here-and-now.

He first of all did some shopping for supermarket clothes, already being pretty uncomfortable in Simon’s old sweats. Jim was a tall man, but in Simon’s clothes he had to both turnback cuffs and turn up the hems of his pants. Also, Simon’s over-large trainers were killing his feet. So he made lightning raid on K-Mart, collecting a windcheater, a couple of T-shirts, two warmish sweatshirts and a reasonable pair of jeans, together with a pair of the worst trainers he had seen in his life – the only ones that fitted – which were such a bright white they should have come with a health warning about needing to wear dark glasses.

After that he made his way into the PD, where he changed in the washrooms, and put Simon’s clothes into one of the K-Mart bags to hand them back to Simon. At his desk, he found two messages waiting for him – one from Blair saying _'you forgot your phone, fool!'_ , and another from Sandra Price, requesting that he phoned.

She picked up the phone immediately, and brightly informed him that his temporary, medium to long-term, accommodation was all ready for him to take possession; a valeted and ready-furnished single bed apartment in the Parkside complex, a new development of pretty prestigious executive boltholes. He rang Blair's cell phone, using his office phone, to relay the news, and was both surprised and a bit dejected to find that Blair's answering service was on. He had rather thought that Blair would be as feeling as aimless and unsettled as himself, unable to put his mind to anything productive. He left a message to say that he would borrow a cell phone from the PD and told Blair where he had been stationed for the duration. The space on the answering service had run out before he had actually finished his message so he couldn’t say _'I’m so sorry, Blair_. But he felt it.

~~~

By 6pm he had made his way out to Parkside, having first stopped by Allied Mutual's offices to finalise paperwork with Sandra. The apartment was superb; large and airy, on the third floor and with big, big windows that would have let in fantastic light had it not been December, and foggy to boot. The furniture was stylish and comfortable, the bed long enough for him, and there was a large screen TV with all the right channels. And quiet – boy, was it quiet. No chugging water pipes or crashing doors like Prospect. He could have been the only guy on the planet.

Yeah. Peace.

He hadn't felt that hungry and had merely stopped briefly on the way there to pick up some sandwiches, toiletries and a six-pack of beer. After the previous night he felt that trying to get some sleep would be key. There was nothing else to be done now; he and Blair just had to wait. He just hoped that Blair had been successful in finding…

Right on cue, the borrowed cell phone rang.

"Jim! At last! Sorry, man! Wow, this has been such a day! I've got so much to tell you! Look, here's my new address…"

He reeled off some details which Jim managed to scribble on the cover of the TV Guide.

"It's such a great place, Jim! I can't wait for you to see it! How's yours?"

"Just fine, Chief. Very comfortable. Really peaceful. I'm looking forward to some long hours of zizz tonight."

"Well, you sure deserve it, man, considering how you saved all our skins last night. And talking of, how is yours? Has it reacted any to the heat last night?" I've got sunburn on one side of my face which looks kinda weird! I've got some aloe gel for that." 

"Amazingly, its fine. But I picked up some aloe, too, on my way here. See, you think I don't listen to you, but I do."

Jim heard Blair chuckle down the line, and that odd feeling of isolation, of being a lone soul drifting in space, left him for a moment, and suddenly he felt hungry again.

"Hey, you want to meet up? Get some food? Then you can show me that apartment."

"Oh, Jim, man, I'm sorry but I'm not even there right now! I'm back at Rainer. I've been asked… oh hey, I've just been told things are about to start here. I've gotta go. Special assignment, Jim! I’ll see you at the PD tomorrow morning and tell all then! Sleep well!"

He rang off, and Jim was left staring at his cell phone. He wearily put it down, and went to switch on the TV, finding some football, which seemed just right for his evening of happy solitude. Yeah, for once, no argument about what to watch. 

He settled down in the armchair and broke open the six-pack. He ate his tuna sandwiches mechanically, staring at the screen. The evening ticked on, and still he was awake.

Listening. He was listening for sounds of life. Was there anyone else in this building? Not a door shutting, not a voice, not a muffled TV. He even threw out his hearing a little more; still nothing. Maybe a muted thrumming which was the heating system. It was like being in a padded cell, he thought. Where were the people?

He kept listening. It was so hard to stop. By 11pm, he was outside the complex, walking; round and round the buildings while the fog soaked his new windcheater. And dawn found him walking still, his eyes hollow and his brow creased with strain.

~~~

Next morning Jim was at his desk early, sitting in still-damp clothes and gazing heavily at accumulated paperwork. Three cups of black coffee and a PD donut had done nothing to sharpen his wits. After the hyper-acuteness of the previous night, now he felt surrounded by metaphorical rather than natural fog, and his appetite for life had gone the way of that for food.

A low whistle pierced his foggy gloom. Looking up he realised that (a) it had been a wolf-whistle, and (b) Rhonda, of all people, had been the whistler. His head jerked round to follow the line of sight of everyone in the office.

Blair stood in the doorway. Or at least, he guessed it was Blair. _Blair, but not as we know him, Captain._ His hair had been cut to even up the lengths lost to the heat and, still far from short, it framed his face beautifully and made him look… grown-up. Yes, that was it. Not _'the kid'_ anymore. An adult Blair stood at the doorway; mature, calm, a little sheepish perhaps, and heart-stoppingly handsome.

Jim sat back in his chair and swallowed heavily. Where had this man come from? He had never seen him before.

Why had he never seen him before?

Blair was now being bombarded with whistles on all sides and he rose to the occasion by sashaying into the room, opening his arms as if to present the New Man.

The clothes. He was wearing a warm-looking but incredibly sleek, dark wool jacket over a sweater of a forest green that made the blue of his eyes simply luminous. A white tee-shirt peeked out from under. The black jeans made him look taller and longer in the body, and instead of the usual tatty trainers he was wearing possibly the most elegant light trekking boots Jim had ever seen.

"My man!" howled Henri. "Just where did you get those threads?"

"Hudson and Allerdice," replied Blair, giving a little twirl. Jim swallowed again, and the whole room erupted in gasps of surprise. Hudson and Allerdice was _the_ store of Cascade – eye-wateringly expensive and stocked with labels that no one in that room, least of all Blair Sandburg, would have had jostling in their wardrobes.

"Just how...?" continued Henri, marching up to handle the wool of the jacket and then turning wide-eyed to everyone else. 

"You won't believe it," said Blair, good-naturedly allowing Henri to paw at his coat, "but replacing my clothes was all part of the Rainer insurance deal. I get an allowance, and the University said I should use their account at Hudson's. I can replace everything I want to - up to a limit, of course."

"What's the limit?" demanded Henri.

"Oh, $1,500."

"Oh boy, I need to get me one of those teachin' jobs!"

And while Henri entertained the department with his ideas of how Rainier would certainly want to employ his skills, Blair sidled up to Jim's desk, where its occupant was still sitting motionless and silent.

"Hey, Jim. You okay? You look kind of pale."

"What?" replied Jim, not quite able to take his eyes off Blair's face – the wide, full mouth; the deep blue of his eyes; the angle of his jaw and the texture of his throat. Knowing that the redness on one cheek was the result of immense bravery in the face of the fire just the previous night only added to his magnetism, for Jim.

"You look pale," repeated Blair. "Did you get some sleep last night?"

"Not really." Jim mentally shook himself awake.

"Hmm." Blair perched on the edge of the desk and regarded Jim closely. "Well, maybe you'll do better tonight. Hey, Jim, I've just got to tell you." He leaned a little closer and Jim could almost _taste_ the warmth of him. "You'll never guess. So, after I got these clothes…"

"How?" interrupted Jim. "I mean how did you choose them? They're… they're…"

"You like them?" asked Blair, a hopeful note in his voice.

"Yeah, they look great, Chief. _You_ look great."

Blair gave Jim a huge smile which almost knocked him off his chair.

"Good! Marnie helped choose them for me. She's a genius!"

Jim's heart froze. Not another girlfriend. Not _now_ , please God.

"Marnie?"

"Yeah, she's the style analyst at Hudson's. Honestly. Look, here's her card." He pulled a business card from his pocket and dropped it on Jim's blotter. "She suggested what I should look for. Man, I've never even been close to clothes like these before. I didn't know where to start, but she just picked stuff out and I really liked it them. She said they were me, just with money attached."

"That's one way of looking at it," ventured Jim, itching to put his hand on the fabric just as Henri had done.

"Yeah. And she made me get my hair cut, too! So I was at Rainier wearing these clothes yesterday afternoon and the Vice-Chancellor comes up. The Vice-Chancellor! He's never said one word to me before! And he asks if I'd help with a delegation from France that's staying at Rainier, show them around, take them to dinner, etcetera etcetera. Advertising the University. That's where I had to go last night, when I phoned you. And you'll never guess what else! They're paying me! I get money for going out to dinner! Unbelievable!"

"Yeah," agreed Jim, faintly. "Unbelievable".

"Look, I'm sorry but I gotta split. There's some symposium this morning and then something else I've got to check on for this afternoon. I'll make up the time, I promise."

"No problemo, Chief," replied Jim gruffly. "It's good for your career there, I can see that. But how about lunch today? Just to catch up. I can tell you about Prospect…"

"Oh yeah, you must. And you need to tell me about…" - his voice dropped to a whisper – "…your senses. Any problems after last night? Any bad reactions, or weirdness? It was pretty traumatic. Oh, but let me call you about lunch. I'm not sure right now."

"I'm just fine, Chief," said Jim. "Now, excuse me, but I need to go to Records." And with that Jim abruptly left the department, leaving Blair fending off further fashion admirers.

But he didn't go to Records. He went to the men's room and bathed his face and eyes with cold water. And wondered what the hell was going on, because it was like the man he had come to regard as his moral compass for the past four years had just gone full-on corporate.

~~~

Jim didn't wait for the phone call; he couldn't. He couldn't even concentrate on work of any kind. He counted the hours and minutes until he could respectably leave for an early lunch, having fed Simon a line about needing to check on some insurance details, and made his way unerringly for Blair's 'office' in the Rainier basement. He had thought all morning about the things he wanted to say, questions he wanted to ask, to try to find a way out of this little nightmare.

It was a gamble to expect Blair to be at his desk, but there he was; the dark coat was lying over the back of his chair and he had his sweater sleeves rolled up to his elbows as he sorted a sheaf of papers, muscular forearms on display. A _man's_ muscular forearms, noted Jim; not a kid's. 

Blair looked up in surprise as Jim walked in.

"Oh, man! That's the time already? I'm sorry, Jim. I was about to call you. I just can't leave right now. I've got a luncheon to go to here."

Jim stopped dead in his tracks, then tried to recover ground by feigning nonchalance.

"That's okay Chief. I was passing. On my way to… ah… I'm going to check on that witness at the Cascade Bank case from last week. I just stopped by on the off-chance."

"Maybe tomorrow?" offered Blair, with another of those heart-stopping smiles.

Jim turned as if to leave, and then swung back again.

"Gotta tell you, Chief, you're lookin' real good. Quite a transformation." He took a deep breath; this was his test. "But I think something's missing."

"Huh?"

"An earring. Gold hoop. Like you used to wear. That would look just perfect." And to Blair's wide-eyed surprise (and a good deal of his own) he reached over the desk and touched Blair's shorter hair, then let his hand linger for a split second on Blair's fire-reddened cheek.

Oh, he had touched Blair many, many times before, but never like that. Never with such intent. He knew it, and Blair knew it, too; he could tell.

"That is not a look which would suit, in my humble opinion," said a heavily-accented and far from humble voice behind him. Blair started back from Jim's touch and Jim spun on his heel to find an elegant man in a very beautifully-cut overcoat leaning against the door-frame. He was tall and square-jawed, with an air that said he knew he was the embodiment of urbanity. He looked Jim up and down, from the cheap windcheater to the terrible trainers, and Jim could see dismissal in his face.

"Claude!" Blair leapt out from behind his desk and rushed forward to meet the newcomer. "Jim, this is Professor Claude Colbert. He's visiting from the University of Paris."

Jim stretched out a hand.

"Paris, France, I take it?" he asked sweetly. Colbert's handshake was limp and disdainful.

"You will be the famous Detective Ellison that we hear so much about. Delighted to meet you. Such an exciting part of his research, Blair being involved with your Police Department. But I am sure we can offer similar entertainment."

Jim glanced at Blair, who was looking flustered.

"Chief…" he began, but Claude carried on.

"Yes, I am trying hard to persuade Blair to transfer his studies to my University. I think there would be many opportunities for him there."

"Really?" replied Jim. "He doesn't speak French."

" _Pas de problème_. I am sure Blair will make many friends in Paris who will help him learn."

"Claude," began Blair, "stop joking about this. You know that's not on the cards."

" _Mais non_ , Blair. I do not joke. I am sure we can arrange something, my University and yours. Now, I thought you and I could walk together to the luncheon, if you are ready. Mr Ellison, you will excuse us. Blair and I have some important people to see, _n'est-ce pas, Blair?_

"I was just going, Chief," said Jim, studiously ignoring Claude. "I'll catch you later." And before Blair could say any more he did his best to sweep majestically out of the small office, his cheap trainers squeaking badly on the polished wood floors. He deliberately dialled his hearing down as he walked. He didn't want to listen to what Claude Colbert said about him, or how Blair responded; he couldn't cope with that right now. Anyway, he had another, more pressing task at hand.

Back again in the fresh air, he pulled out his cell phone and fumbled in his pocket for the little card that Blair had left on his desk earlier. He started dialling, and then stopped and dialled another number instead.

"Sharon? Jim Ellison. Tell me, do I have a clothes allowance?"

~~~

The apartment block where Blair was billeted was somewhat cringe-makingly called "Heaven's Reach." In fact, this was because the land it was built on had long ago been owned by a Mrs Patience Heaven, but it all made for good advertising.

Jim parked in the grounds and started towards the tall building, only to see Blair emerge from the polished glass-and-chrome doors. Blair stopped dead as he saw Jim, and then, with what could only be described as a beatific smile, he trotted up to where Jim stood.

"Jim! Wow! You look terrific."

And Jim knew that he did. He knew that his sweater of a soft, deep navy-blue in purest cashmere brought out the pale blue of his eyes to a remarkable degree, and the waxed coat, though practical, was classy enough to be seen at the Mayor's Ball. His boots had cost about the same as a car he'd once owned, but they were light and flexible and felt like heaven, and the corduroy pants showed his long legs off to perfection. He knew all this; he and Marnie had constructed the look together and whilst Jim had been hopeful of its effect, the look Blair was now giving him took all doubt away.

"I've got something for you," he said, and handed the wide-eyed Blair a small box. Inside was a hoop earring, intricately woven in gold.

"Wow," said Blair. "Just… wow."

Courage in both hands, Jim took a step forward.

"Have dinner with me, Blair. I've made a reservation at the Riverside Rooms."

"Jim, Riverside? I mean, that's not our usual haunt!"

"No, because this isn’t our usual life. I'm not sure it ever will be again. Blair, I want you to have dinner with me. Do you get it? Dinner. Have dinner with me. Go out with me. Please."

Blair looked at him, confused.

"Jim, what are you… I mean, now, after all this time? Really?"

But before Jim could answer, a painfully familiar voice hailed them from across the parking lot.

"Ah, Detective Ellison, here you are again. Just as Blair and I are heading out to dinner." And it was Colbert, leaning against a chauffeur-driven limousine.

"Jim," whispered Blair, "I'm sorry, it’s the last night. They’re travelling on to Seattle tomorrow. I don’t want to screw things up for Rainier."

"What?" asked Jim acidly. "Is Rainier pimping you out now?"

Blair's eyes went icy.

"Be right with you, Claude," he called, and turned on his heel.

Colbert waved at Jim. 

"We are going to your Riverside Rooms," he called. "A special place, I believe? They tell me, one must really be someone important to be allowed to eat there."

And Jim was left in the quiet parking lot, alone and feeling like a fool.

~~~

Foggy. It was still foggy. But he could see the building okay. All was well. Just another circuit and maybe he could stop thinking about everything that had happened in the last 48 hours. Just another circuit and maybe he'd wake up and this strange silent building would have disappeared and he'd be back in Prospect with the chuntering water-pipes, and Polly Edwards and her psychotic cat, and Mr Armitage, and The Susans…. and Blair.

Just another circuit….

"Jim! Jim!"

Strong arms pulling at his, strong hands touching his face, stroking his brow.

"Jesus! You're freezing. Why aren't you wearing your new coat?"

Jim shook his head.

"Don’t wear dress uniform on patrol," he mumbled. He heard Blair gasp, and then felt himself ushered back into the building and marched to his apartment where Blair summarily divested him of his wet (cheap) clothes and ordered him to take a hot shower. By the time he emerged, still somewhat dazed but at least now warmly clad in the new sweats purchased that day, Blair was taking delivery of Chinese food.

"Here," he said brusquely. "Sit. Eat. I don’t think you've eaten properly for the past two days, have you? Or slept?"

"You ate already," accused Jim, his voice still a little slurred. "At the Riverside Rooms."

"I went there," replied Blair impatiently, "but I didn't feel like eating much. You weren't answering your phone, Jim. I was worried. It's gone midnight!" He doled out rice and chicken, handing Jim a steaming plateful.

"Now eat, and so will I. Real food after 48 hours of canapés. Dear Lord in Heaven…"

Jim ate, and cleared two platefuls. And when he sat back, feeling more human, he saw Blair watching him gravely.

"Jim, I screwed up. I am so sorry. I should have thought about it – It should have been the first thing on my mind. You've lost the Loft – your home. And your tribe – all those funny, sweet little people we live next to. You've been ripped away from that important place and stuck in this hermetically-sealed dolls-house with no one to talk to. And I've been so… I've been so…"

"I've been on my own before, Chief," began Jim, but Blair held up a hand.

"Trauma and isolation, Jim – your nuclear button combination. You know it is! No wonder this has affected you badly. You could have gotten really ill, and where the hell was I? With my head up my ass. No, just let me say it. Look, you mustn't worry now, Jim. Prospect will be rebuilt - you know that. All our neighbours are safe, because of you. Okay, so we lost stuff, but nothing that was important, not really. We didn't lose our friends; we didn't lose each other. Because you’re a Sentinel, you saved everyone. Your tribe is safe, and you can stand down. Pull all those senses right back to zero; there's nothing out there for you be alert about right now. Dial them down. I want you to relax now. I want you to sleep tonight, and tomorrow morning, come over to my apartment. I think we have some talking to do."

"Chief…"

"No, not tonight, Jim. Neither of us is fit for the kind of talk we need to have. Come over any time. For breakfast, if you like. I’ll be waiting. Now, I'll clear out the trash and you go to bed, and I’ll see you tomorrow.

And with that, he manhandled Jim into the bed, tucked him in and laid a light kiss on his forehead. Jim was asleep before he had gone out of the door.

~~~

Heaven's Reach was beautiful place to live, no doubt about it. Like Parkside, everything was muffled and quiet and you barely knew anyone else lived in the building. The windows were wide and the view over the Bay was superb. And the sheer square-footage was simply astounding.

Blair had let Jim in immediately, as if he had been waiting on the other side of the door. He was still in his beautiful green sweater, but his eyes were smudged with blue-black circles and he was unshaven. He looked like he hadn't slept, whereas Jim, refreshed by a night's deep sleep, wandered around in amazement like a tourist.

"The size of it all! Do you know what the rental is?" Blair shook his head. "More than my annual salary, I reckon. My God," continued Jim, poking around in the kitchen area, "Rainier sure looks after its staff. You should check what other perks you've got." Then he straightened up from where he had been inspecting the self-closing kitchen cupboards. "If you’re staying there, I mean."

"Sit, Jim," said Blair heavily.

"Don’t go to France, Chief," said Jim. Blair shook his head.

"I don't speak French, do I? Sit, Jim."

Jim knew when the chips were down. He sat on a soft couch and Blair sat on the coffee table in front of him. He realised that Blair was wearing the gold earring.

"You know," began Blair, "the first night I was here, I actually ran around the room. I ran around and around and yelled at the top of my voice. I put the TV on loud and I ordered Mongolian takeout at 2am, even though I'd had a so-called dinner with the delegation. Because I could. Because someone else was paying. And because… well, frankly, I'd never had this much space to myself in my entire _life_ , Jim. I felt… transported.

"But that was two nights ago. Now, not before time, I feel pretty shitty, because I realise I was kind of seduced by having the luxury of the new clothes and the new apartment, and suddenly everyone at Rainier was paying attention to me like they'd never done before. Because I had this new, expensive image. And I kinda forgot myself for a moment. A long moment. What you said to me tonight - no, no, you were quite right. I was letting Rainier do that to me. I didn't question their double standards because of the novelty of being treated like I was _someone_ in their eyes. And, let's be honest, I thought that maybe if I was having that effect on _them_ , I would finally have some effect on _you_ …"

"Oh, you had an effect," smiled Jim.

"…but if I had been being a proper Guide, I would have realised that you would have been having problems with your senses, and that feeling of losing your tribe. I feel so ashamed that I lost track of that. And also, God forgive me, I didn't focus on the fact that while I had a swanky new temporary home, you'd lost yours, Jim. And that home, _your_ home, is the only place that I've ever really thought of as a home myself. And now the truth is sinking in, and I feel wretched and appalled, and I miss being in Prospect, and being with you, so much. So much."

He fell silent, his face averted from Jim's.

Jim reached out and touched Blair's chin, turning the man's face back to his.

"Blair, I think it’s great that you have nice things for yourself, and have a nice apartment here. It’s exactly what you ought to have."

Blair shook his head.

"Not important, Jim. I admit it; I really, really like nice things, and having a millionaire's apartment for a while is a fun idea, but I know it’s never going to last. What’s been the eye-opener is that I've seen people treating me differently because I was wearing more expensive clothes, and looked like I had money, and looked more fashionably groomed, and I can’t believe I fell for all that. Because that's nothing like my principles. Is it? I mean, I'm right about that here, aren't I?"

"Nothing like them," replied Jim with a smile, feeling calmer with every moment.

"But you noticed me," insisted Blair. "I wore expensive clothes and finally you noticed me. That's what’s messing with my head."

"Chief, Chief," said Jim soothingly, "I've been looking at you for all these years and not really seeing you. Not seeing you properly for the man you are, not a kid. I've been a horse's ass for too long." Blair snorted.

"But being forced apart like that," continued Jim, "and suddenly in a different… what would you call it? A different context? Yeah, I saw you differently, for sure. Because I suddenly saw how beautiful you are, and realised how that makes me feel. I can't ignore this, ignore you, any more. But it's not the clothes. Though I admit, I really like you in them." He grinned, trying to get an answering smile out of Blair. "And I love your hair like that."

At this, he lifted his hands and ran them through Blair's hair, and Blair leant into the touch.

"And don't beat yourself up like this," Jim went on. "You talked about the effect of trauma on me – what about its effect on you? Small wonder you feel like you've got your wires crossed, and maybe lost your bearings for a moment."

After a silent pause, Blair spoke.

"I don’t give a crap about anyone or anything else. What I do care about is losing you, Jim. And I realised that that we both came pretty close to losing each other, that night in the fire. So yeah, it’s great having nice things, but it doesn’t mean anything if you can’t have what you really want."

"Blair, you know maybe it’s true I've been worrying about the rest of our neighbours and that sent me loopy for a while – maybe those old Sentinel senses really were forcing me to focus on finding some new tribe because I couldn't find the old one. But deep down, I know it’s you that's central to it all." He took Blair's hands in his. 

"Look, I feel pretty bad that all you've had over the past years has been a goddamn box-room. I was thinking maybe we could rebuild the Loft to make it better, for both of us. But now, seeing you in your own space, I'm not sure what I can offer."

Blair squeezed his hands.

"Let me be the judge of that," he said, smiling shakily. "Ask me you wanted to ask me right at the beginning."

"Don’t go to France."

"We’ve already done that bit."

"But what about Claude?" Jim pressed. Blair's glance was disdainful.

" _Claude Schmaude_. You think I fell for that creep?" And Jim laughed out loud.

"So have dinner with me. Go out with me, Blair. To dinner." 

Blair leaned forward and took Jim's face in his hands, and then he kissed him. For a while. And then he moved to the couch and they held hands and kissed for a while more. Eventually, Blair tipped back a little, smiling.

"Can we make that lunch? I'm suddenly hungry."

"Riverside Rooms?" asked Jim. Blair frowned at him.

"Why would we want to go there? Let’s go to the kind of place that only lets in people like us."

~~~

Grey sea, grey sky. The beach was almost empty in the chilly December afternoon. It wouldn't be long before the sun started to creep down towards the horizon, but the fish-stall was still open for hungry walkers. Jim and Blair bought cartons of shrimp and crab and mussels, and cardboard cups of coffee, and sat on a rock together, eating their exclusive, inexpensive lunch. And after that, for a long time, they held hands, and watched the ocean, and made plans.

_~~fin~~_


End file.
